Birthday Boy
by Dystopiac
Summary: It's Scarecrow's birthday at Arkham Asylum, so the nurses try to throw a little party for him. However, The Joker is present and he has other plans on how to celebrate. Uh-oh, look out Jonathan!


Jonathan Crane woke with a jolt, his eyes staring wide and his vision blurred from the sudden brightness of the Asylum lights and the white walls. He awoke to the position he usually slept in, one that has not changed for more than ten years. He was curled up into a ball, his arms hugging his knees to his chest, and his face buried within his single white pillow. The sheets were wrapped tightly around his skinny body, trying desperatley to lock in what little body heat he had. He blinked several times, trying to reajust his vision, when he remembered that he always saw things in a blur, since the nurses insisted of depriving him of his much needed glasses.

Bringing up his hands to rub at his eyes, Jonathan could vaguely remember that today was not going to be a good day. He knew what day it was, and although he couldn't bring himself to say it, he just wished he could just curl back under the sheets and skip the day completely. However, wishes, and he already knew, never ever came true. So instead, Jonathan took the bull by the horns and peeled back the sheets, placed his feet on the floor and sat up.

Feeling slightly dizzy from the sudden change of position, Jonathan placed his head between his knees, not sure whether the sick feeling was from moving too quickly or knowing what day it was. He bet more on the latter. There was a loud clang, which he understood as his cell door being opened, and the rusty creak of the door hinges confirmed this. Two orderlies stood in the doorway signalling that he was being brought down for breakfast.

"Wrists please, Jonathan," said one of them. Frowning at the incorrect term of address, Jonathan held out his wrists as they placed a pair of handcuffs on them before leading him out into the filthy corridors with their peeling paint and stained floor and ceiling.

Although Jonathan didn't usually need restraining much (usually only one every month or so) the powers that be decided they weren't taking any chances since the incident with the detestable Joker a few weeks ago, involving a slight "accident" in public, a crude batch of fear toxin and a lot of pain caused by a metal chair. Jonathan winced slightly at the memory; his arm still hurt slightly from being broken and his neck still carried asphyxiation marks across the collar bones.

Jonathan was silent all the way down to the cafeteria, ignoring all the obscene comments made by other inmates, usually from those of lesser intelligence than himself. Eventually, they reached their destination, and as he was led through the barred metal doors, the handcuffs were removed and Jonathan was free to take a tray and sit down. He did just so, choosing a separate table from the rest of the inmates. Today, he wasn't taking any chances, although he doubted that any of them knew.

It suddenly dawned on him that instead he should be more wary of the nurses and doctors instead of the inmates, especially the ones he had hired. Feeling another twang of humiliation, Jonathan couldn't think how his life could get any worse. Being treated by the very people he'd hired, being terrorised by his own patients, being battered by an insane clown that looked like he'd jumped straight out of Stephen Kings "It" and now this.

For it was on this day, on the 25th of May, that Jonathan "Scarecrow" Crane turned thirty three years old. Thirty three years since he was born a bastard child. Twelve years since he gained his PhD (an absurdly young age) and ten years since he first started truly experiementing with fear. Ten years of research and practicing and developing, only to wind up being locked away in a mental institution, his genius going to waste. To Jonathan Crane, this was so depressisng he had to fight hard not to break down and cry.

He quickly finished his breakfast, which looked like something a cat had thrown up and tasted even worse (not that he'd know!) and headed back to the door, eager to get back to his cell. If he could spend as much time of the day possible in his cell, maybe he would just get by. He was being escorted back, striding along at the fastest pace possible that wasn't running, when a nurse who passed by gave him a smile. He didn't return it, but he didn't like the way that smile was. It wasn't just a smile. It was a I-know-something-you-don't smile.

Getting back to his cell in what seemed like record time, he threw himself down on the uncomfortable and somewhat dirty bed and curled up. He lifted up the pillow and placed it on his face, trying to calm himself down.

"You're being paranoid, Jonathan. It's okay. It's okay. Nothing is going to happen," he told himself, his voice muffled by the pillow. He took the pillow off and placed it under his head. If he could just sleep the day away, everything would be better tomorow. Settling down, Jonathan closed his eyes and tried desperatley to lull himself to sleep. No luck.

Letting out a growl of frustration, Jonathan lept up and instead tried to wear himself out by pacing around his cell constantly. After what seemed like hours, but couldn't have been more than minutes, his mind still wouldn't shut down and he was more paranoid than ever. He felt like there was security cameras scrutinizing his every mood from every angle, even though he knew Arkham Asylum couldn't place cameras inside the cells as it was an invasion of privacy.

He sat down with his back against the wall and found himself rocking back and forth, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped protectively around himself. He felt like he was fourteen years old again, hiding from the bullies who tormented him because of his intelligence and long, gangly apppearence, instead of the grown man he was today. Jonathan closed his eyes and tried to block out their cruel taunts, not noticing that he was now led on the cold, concrete floor and that he was gently falling asleep.

Jonathan sat up quickly and stratled, nearly smashing his forhead against the wall while he was at it. The orderlies were stood in his cell doorway again, though they were different from the ones at breakfast. The had said something to him, but Jonathan hadn't heard. Instead he inclined them to repeat through the look of confusion etched onto his face.

"Recreational room time. You already slept through lunch and dinner. Wrists please," one of them said, and Jonathan went through the whole motion of holding out his wrists and being cuffed once more, then being led down into the recreational room. He arrived, was freed of his handcuffs, then went to take his seat at a table he always occupied ever since his incarceration at Arkham.

Jonathan was just in the middle of observing a rather interesting ant that was running around in circles when he heard a noise. Ignoring it, he placed his forehead to the table and wrapped his arms over his head, praying to God, or whatever was up there in the sky that decided he should be so miserable, that he was imaging things, and what he believed to be happening wasn't really happening. He lifted up his head and saw that he was surrounded by about ten nurses, all of them wearing ridiculous party hats on their heads. He saw that the inmates in the room were all wearing them too. There was no God.

"Happy birthday, Jonathan," cried out Nurse Flo, smiling all over. Religious fanatic as she was, Jonathan couldn't bring it in himself to hate her. Perhaps it was because she was the only nurse who gave him the respect he needed, as well as her "cute" stories about her gandchildren, and gossip from church. Jonathan was not religious, and she knew this, yet she never, ever shut up about what had recently happened in church.

Another nurse entered holding a small birthday cake with pink icing and a single lit candle. She placed it on the table in front of him, and he looked up at her.

"Blow the candle out and make a wish!" she explained to him, as if he might be stupid. Sighing deeply, Jonathan decided that he would blow the stupid candle out, then quickly make up an excuse to leave before things got even more unbearable.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and blew out, all the while making his wish. _I wish I could get out of here._ There was a huge cheer from both the nurses and the inmates as he opened his eyes. He was being patted on the back rather forcefully by some of the inmates. There'd be a bruise there tomorow.

"Every, let's sing 'Happy Birthday' to Jonathan!" said another nurse. Jonathan groaned mentally. He was sure that the nurses had written down a list of ways to torture him, and he was quite sure that top of the list was "Celebrate his birthday loudly and painstakingly obviously." The inmates and the nurses all bellowed out a rather out of tune and somewhat unbearable "Happy Birthday" to him and he tried his best not to look miserable and on the verge on committing suicide using a wax birthday candle.

They finished the song, thank God, and ended with another large cheer. It was then that Jonathan heard a rather loud clapping noise coming from the barred high security doors. He looked to see who was clapping and nearly had a heart attack right there. It was The Joker, his face contorted from smiling, causing his scars to look even more hideous, and his eyes gleaming menacingly under the harsh light.

The Joker walked over towards him and sat down next to him. Jonathan stiffened as The Joker rested his head against his shoulder and drapped his arm around his neck. Jonathan stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the man who was cuddled up next to him.

"How are things, ah, old Craney, old Johnny-Scarecrow, old pal?" said clown asked him. Jonathan didn't reply, instead just looked down at the clowns head which was nestled under his neck. He looked at the now clean hair which was a dirty blonde colour now his beloved green had grown out.

"Silent treatment, ah? I thought it was only, ah, _women_ who favoured that, ah, treatment. Guess I was right about you-ah," he spoke, knowing full well Jonathan wouldn't be able to ignore that.

"What do you mean?" Jonathan asked, right on que.

"We were, ah, discussing you, me and a few of my, ah, Arkham buddies. And we made, ah, bets on how...feminine you are. I was right-ah," The Joker looked up at him from Jonathan's neck, seeing that Jonathan was still staring ahead, but had turned a slight pink in his usually pale cheeks.

"Blushing, Johnny old boy? Does my, ah, contact send you wild?" The Joker nestled up further to Jonathan, feeling his pulse rise wildly from his neck. The Joker smirked to himself. He was going to give Jonathan a birthday to remember. No reply for said Johnny boy.

"It's your, ah, _birthday_ today, isn't it, Scarey Crow? How old are yah? Thirty three? Getting kinda, ah, old aren't you?" The Joker slide his hands down to Jonathan waist, before wrapping them around him completely and using one finger to trace circles on Jonathan's hip.

"How old are you?" Jonathan spoke quietly. The Joker noted that he had not said anything about The Joker questionable contact to Jonathan. He decided to go even further.

"Tut, tut, tut, Johnny boy! You, ah, _know _what happens to curious old Scaredy Crows, don't you?" The Joker told Jonathan, knowing he was still traumatised after trying out his fear toxin on him and being beaten by a chair as a result. On que, Jonathan folded his arms, placing his hand protectively over his left arm.

"So, ah," The Joker moved to whisper into Jonathan's ear, "What did yah wish for?" The Joker ran his hand over Jonathan's chest now, and could see that, as well as the now clearer blush in Jonathan's cheek, he had now broken out into a sweat.

"Not gonna say, huh? How about I, ah, guess?" The Joker raised his head and looked up at the ceiling as if in thought. "Let's see, what would Craney wish for? Hmm."

The Joker shifted himself, and suddenly lifted his legs so that he was now sat on Jonathan's lap. Jonathan swallowed and went stiff. The Joker knew that his plan was working.

"Was it for...a new mask? No, no. You can, ah, easily make a new one, from a, ah, potato sack, can't yah, Crow?" The Joker wrapped his arms around Jonathan's neck, who clearly looked both uncomfrtable and terrified. "How about...a new, ah, _fear toxin?_ No, that's not it either, huh? What could it be, what could it be?"

Jonathan could by now see that several of the inmates were staring over, curious as to what was going on between Jonathan and The Joker. The Joker didn't seem to notice.

"Ah ha! I know what it was! You, ah, wished to, ah, escape didn't you?" The Joker noted that Jonathan stiffed at this, confirming he was right. "Aw, what a, ah, _waste_ of a wish Johnny-Crow boy. I'm, ah, disapointed in you."

"Why?"Jonathan could mutter, knowing that something was happening again. He hoped it wouldn't involve chairs. Or sock puppets.

"Because I got yah a _really_ great birthday present!" The Joker braced himself, knowing full well that near enough every pair of eyes was on them now, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHNNY!" he yelled.

And with that, The Joker crushed his scarred lips against Jonathan's, giving him a full blown make-out kiss. There were jeers and shouts and the occassional wolf-whistle from the inmates. Jonathan struggled to get away, but The Joker took hold of his arms and forced his mouth open, running tongue on the inside of his mouth. Jonathan nearly choked on the taste of The Joker's rotten teeth. Eventually, The Joker let go rather breathlessly and pecked Jonathan on the cheek before jumping up and leaving Jonathan sat there stunned.

"I knew it! I knew he was a queer!" yelled one inmate, pointing at Jonathan.

Jonathan could take no more. His eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped off the chair and collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

When he woke up, he was back in cell, on his bed. Jonathan pulled a look of disgust, running his tongue inside his mouth, trying to get rid of The Joker's taste to no avail. He gagged and felt like any minute he was going to throw up. He fell to the floor, on his hands and knees and upheaved his stomach's contents before collpasing again on the floor.

"Happy fucking birthday" he heard from one of the orderlies as he was picked up to be cleaned off. Although he was unconscious once more and could just about hear what was said, Jonathan couldn't help but feel that the day went better than expected. Now, if only he could get past next year's birthday.

* * *

_-Wow. This came out longer than I expected it to be._

_-To me, Jonathan Crane doesn't seem like the type of person who would celebrate his birthday. Especially given his past in the comic books._

_-The 25th of May is actually Cillian Murphy's birthday. He played Jonathan Crane in Batman Begins/Dark Knight. I so have the hots for him.  
_

_-The whole beaten by a chair thing refers to one of my prvious stories, as well as the original comic book story line.  
_

_-Jonathan's birthday wish could lead up to my next story. I'm not sure yet._

_-To me, The Joker does not seem like a homosexual. However, I do believe that he will resort to that if he could get a reaction out of somebody, particulary someone as uptight as our own Jonathan Scarecrow Crane._

_-Happy Fucking Bithday is actually a brilliant song by Combichrist. Give it a listen._

_-Reviews appreciated.  
_


End file.
